Zakiye

Melancholy and the Infinite Patience

2008-10-08T09:54:00.000-07:00

When Angela Has insomnia, everybody suffers.

2am-

Me:Why are you on the floor?

Guy: you told me to get out of bed.

Me:You don't want to sleep with me anymore because I'm too fat???

Guy:I do want to sleep with you because I love you, and you screamed if I didn't get out of bed you would call the police.

Me:I can't believe the first thing you say to me when I wake up is that I'm fat.

Guy:Can I get back in bed?

3:30am-

Me:hey.

silence.

HEY

Guy:Wha?

Me:Why aren't you speaking to me anymore???? do you want to leave me for a man????

Guy: Uh...I was asleep.

Me:Why is the window open???? Is my fat suffocating you so much that you have to open the window????

Guy:You opened the window last night cause you said it was stuffy.

Me: Did you open the window so that everyone in the neighborhood would hear us having sex and think I'm a whore?????

Guy: We didn't even have sex.

Me:oh.

can you please close the window sweetie?

4am-

Guy:hey....What the hell are you doing on the phone??

Me:er...nothing....

Guy:Give me that- why are you calling planned parenthood? In the middle of the night?

Me:I need my annual pap smear!

Guy: Go to SLEEP!!!

(20 minutes later)

Me: Hey, guy, I just came up with a choose your own adventure novel I'm gonna write, and you're the main character.

Guy:mmhmm.

Me:Wanna hear it? Ok, so, its you and shelly and you guys work at a pizza parlor...

Guy:Whos Shelly?

Me: I'm getting there! so, Shelly is this big dykey girl, whos like 6'2 and 290lbs, and she has a honey-colored mullet and a marine world t-shirt and she wears bonnie bell lip-smackers like everyday. anyways, so one day you guys are working late at the pizza parlor, and you realize that the last bus left an hour before you were off work, and you're like FUCK cause now you have to walk home in the dark, and shelly is like 'don't worry guy, ill give you a ride home' and you're all 'thanks shelly!' so you guys get in her car and as you drive further and further you realize 'hey this isn't the way to my house...' and she drives out into a field in the middle of nowhere and stops her volvo and leans over your waifish body and reeks of pepperoni and lip-smackers, and she growls 'put out or get out!'. Turn to page 9 to put out. Turn to page 11 to- put out.

Guy:Wait, what happened to get out??

Me: Not an option.

Guy: you cant say put out or get out and not make get out an option!

Me: (sigh) FINE, Turn to page 12 to get out.

Guy. Ok. What happens?

Me: You put out.

Silence.

Guy:I don't think I like where this is going.

Me: hee hee hee

Depression is Colorblind

2008-09-18T07:59:00.000-07:00

Being depressed turns everyday things- or fun things, things I used to enjoy- into misery.

The morning walk of misery.

The Starbucks of misery.

Bed Bath and Beyond and misery.

The Adult section at my local video store of misery.

Finding the only black guy to go home with in Santa Maria and then realizing I can't cause my mom gave me a ride to the bar and I have to call her to pick me up too so I just do him in the bathroom of misery.

DAMN YOU DEPRESSION- IS NOTHING SACRED?????

Sooner or Later, We All Sleep Alone

2008-09-16T15:14:00.000-07:00

I remember when I was living in Culver City in a house with 4 male roommates, and I was sleeping with the one that lived in the room next to mine. He said he loved me, but wouldn’t leave his girlfriend, cause you know, he felt bad. One night I was up, chopping up lines with a straight razor in bed, when I heard him and his girlfriend fucking next door. This made me very mad so I took the straight razor and sliced open my arm. I shrugged and put a towel on it, laid down and fell asleep. The next morning my bed was soaked in blood, and I was late for school. I went to the bathroom and the only bandaids were these mini pokemon bandaids, so I used like 5 to try and paste my arm back together, but there were still glistening bulges between each of the little pokemon bandaids. A couple of my roommates looked at my arm while they ate breakfast, and I smiled and said good morning. This may have been when they decided I should move out. But, it could have been before that.

I Removed Myself From Mainstream Society and All I Got Were these Lousy Designer Jeans

2008-09-10T14:31:00.000-07:00

So for the past few months I have been lying low. I was feeling creative, but now I'm not. I just feel celibate. Sometimes bulimic.
I'm suffering from Celibulimia.
Whateves. I was in a situation that I hated, that involved a worthless job, worthless boy, and worthless substances, all of which have now turned to nothing. I will be glad for them to stay that way.
I don't know what Im doing with my life, but its good to know that I now don't know what everyone else didn't know all along.
also, I found this:
www.blakeanddylan.com
and such is the circle of life.

Or Was it "Matt and Ben"? I Can't Remember...

2008-08-25T09:16:00.000-07:00

When I turned 23, my boyfriend got me tickets to see a play called "Ben and Matt" for my birthday. It was a play where two girls performed the parts of Ben Affleck and Matt Damon before they had become famous.
Before the play, he took me out to dinner at a nice restaurant on Robertson Blvd, and told me to only order the soup, only half-jokingly, because he was poor. So, I ordered a small, inexpensive appetizer, to be nice. He ordered himself a steak.
I'm not sure if I'd be able to accurately describe the depths of the fury that I felt at that moment. So I won't try. Instead, I'll just describe how I, in turn, ordered three $18 martinis and drank them slowly, staring at him, not saying a word.
We were late for the play. After the play I yelled at him and he cried and said I was an alcoholic. I cried and said he was a cheap fuck, and he loved steak more than me (It wouldn't be until later that I would realize how I couldn't really be mad at him for that.) Then, we made out and he said 'baby for your birthday, lets go to Mexico and get you some Prozac'. I guess he thought If I took Prozac I wouldn't be crazy and yell at him anymore( It wouldn't be until later that he would realize just how wrong he was about that.)
So that night we drove south and stopped in San Diego and parked in a lot that overlooked an IHOP and leaned our seats back to sleep. There wasn't enough room to do it, so I let him feel me up while he jacked off, and as I looked over his hand jerking up and down at the bright blue lights of the International House of Pancakes, I thought that I should write about this sometime.

Shit To Do

2008-08-22T19:17:00.000-07:00

Why, May I ask, does having a life neccessarily have to entail other people?
I ask this because always, always at work they assume I can come in early. I'm the can come in early girl. I have no husband, no kids. Apparantly, I have no life, so I can pretty much do whatever.
It isn't always so for men. My boyfriend's have always had better things to do, whether that be playing pool or taking naps...but how come, as a single WOMAN, when I have no family or child or husband, I automatically have nothing else to do? Why do I have no life, just because I have no life based on others?
Don't get me wrong. Being a mother or a wife- thats important, time consuming- but what about the dudes? They have to make their "beats", or do their art or play their banjo or write their screenplays... when I do these things its just considered "Drunk Angela"...nevermind how true that may or may not be, but I guess in doing anything fostering any other goal than being Mrs. Angela Fillintheblank makes me open and free for anything cause its not like I have important shit to do.
A boyfriend once told me he couldn't go to my brother's wedding because he had important things to do, and I saw him later that day walking to the laundromat with an armload of dirty underwear in one hand and the original Star Wars Trilogy in the other. And, no, it wasn't that he was "just not that into me"- he genuinely felt he had very important things to accomplish in his mind, and really, I can't fault him. But I could NEVER get away with that shit. If my boss asked me to come in early cause her kid was getting baptized, and I refused and was later spotted skipping down the street with a vibrator and old episodes of Full House tucked under my arm, I know for a fact there would be hell to pay.
JUST SAYIN.

Guide to Managing your Financials

2008-08-18T20:01:00.001-07:00

I live in downtown Sacramento.
I hate working , cause like most shit, its simultaneously gay and gayer, which is why I am on paid leave for my carpal tunnel syndrome. I used to work at a clothing store I won't mention(FUCK YOU URBAN OUTFITTERS), but I liked not going too much, and eventually they decided to give me paid leave, cause if they fired me they were afraid I'd do something all Taliban-y. What EVES!
Anyhow…$146 is about what I get per week. This averages around 580 dollars a month. Which, according to Oprah, is poverty level. But I don't abuse the system like some of those ghetto people, oh no. In fact, I think 580 dollars a month is a fine income. If people don't have running water its their own fault. But maybe they need guidance, I'm thinking, so I'm gonna do a monetary breakdown of my monthly spending in order to show people how to not be poverterous in these hard times, cause obviously everyone is retarded and can't do it themselves.
My financial breakdown:
Rent:$175
Ok, so I live in the most expensive state in the US, and I still only pay 175 in rent in a major metro area. How, you ask? No no, im no squatter. Gross. Granted, I used to eat my old roommates leftover in-n-out from the garbage, but only when it was (near) the top of the trash, and even then I stopped cause it was starting to give me low self-esteem. So anyways, the thing is, when I moved in with my last boyfriend our apartment was 700 a month for a studio. He told me I just had to give him 175 a month, and I thought wow he's so generous paying the rest. But in reality, the entire rent was automatically indefinitely deducted each month from his parents checking account. So, really, I was just paying him 175 a month for sex so he could spend it all to buy weed from our neighbors while he didn't actually pay any of the bill himself. However, when we broke up and he moved out, he decided he didn't want to work and still wanted my 175 dollars a month, so we agreed to not tell his parents, I still give him his 175, he still gets his weed, and he sleeps in some gay dudes garage for free.
I'm no Suze Orman, but if everyone would just follow this same route, we wouldn't need welfare housing, ya know?
Moving on.
Alcohol: $0-$405:
This is a necessity thats always changing. Depending on how many people I blow per month, I may not have to spend any money. But if im being a prudish bitch, then usually about half of the rest of my paycheck that is left over after rent ($202.50) is crumpled and shoved in my pocket, and fairly depleted after a few days. The other $202.50 I keep in an ashtray by my plethora of expired birthcontrol and old NYLON magazines, or as I like to call it, my 401k. My 401k may or may not last for the entire month, depending on how distracted I am by defunct articles about Six Feet Under, or how intimately I feel I need to know Chloe Sevigniy. (FYI: this usually ranges from moderate to extreme intimacy)
Drugs(non-alcohol):$50-$150
Now, this varies on a month to month basis as well. Normally, I'll use my 401k to fund an 8-ball, which, depending on your dealer, can run you from $110 all the way to $175. The thing is, the quality of Sacramento coke is all fairly consistent in its shittiness, so I'd recommend getting it through the 110 guy. But sometimes I won't buy drugs at all. Like, I'll go through my 'puritan' months, or my 'don't feel like getting my stomach pumped' months, and I won't buy any.
However, these months often cause my alcohol bill to be around $2,994.00.
Ok, at this point you may notice that 2,994 dollars is a little over my earnings. This is where plan B(or the plan that has actually been in the back of my head the whole time but I wont admit it) comes in. I call my mom and tell her that I need 700 dollars for rent that my evil pothead ex screwed me out of (teehee), and then I go to Longs Drugs on 17th and K St. and I pick up the 700 dollars from money-gram. Then I call her again, and I tell her that I also just found out that he actually screwed me for rent for the previous two months, from buying so much pot, and he will probly screw me for rent the next month too, so she should send me money for that just to be safe. Can you believe that pothead. And then she'll agree, cause she is a highschool teacher and knows that pot is a gateway drug. Hes probly on crack too she'll say, and then I'll just nod even though she can't see me through the phone and I'll say I can't believe I was ever so stupid to be involved with such a loser and I'll cry and she'll be all don't beat yourself up honey, girl power! And then I'll feel better when I walk back down to the Longs to get my next money-gram.
Now I've received a total net income of $2,800. Add in my left over 401k, and I have $3,002.50. When you take out my alcohol bill, I have a total of $8.50 left for the month. That's what I call Macroeconomics.
Dollar Sushi Night: $8.50
Lastly, I enjoy going out for dollar sushi hand-roll night with my friends. With beers at $3.25 a pop, I get a couple with a couple of rolls, and what a rockin night out! And economical too!

So, my crackhead minority-ridden peers, there you have it. You don't need to make much money to survive, you just have to be smart about it. Granted, sometimes people in poverty are in poverty because they have kids or some shit, but just minus out the dollar sushi night to buy diapers and you're fine. I mean, children are the future and whatnot, you selfish fucks. Anyways, even though it may not always be easy, getting through these recession-laden times IS doable with a little bit of discipline and a whole lot of proper planning. Good luck!(vote obama)

An Open Letter To the Fat Bitch Supervisor at Von's in Nipomo

2008-08-12T10:57:00.000-07:00

Dear Fat Bitch Supervisor at Von's in Nipomo:
I had my printed license, ATM card AND passport, plus my own haggard mug right there in person, and you still wouldn't let me buy my wine. All I wanted, after my long long day of work and gym and walking over a mile from the bus stop, was a nice glass of wine. So, I hope for justice's sake that one day when you are in the same situation(minus the gym or walking parts, for those are obviously situations you are never in) that some wide-assed bucked-toothed back-woods Code Red Mountain Dew drinking Bacon Club Chalupa gorging "Management Material" denies you your one and only pleasure in lieu of some bureaucratic bullshit instilled in you during your paid training at the only job you've ever had, and when some toothless skinny methed out fuck mounts you at your cousin's party you can pass along the legacy to your daughter who will undoubtedly be named Krystal or Cheyenne or Nevaeh(its heaven backwards you know) cause those names are classy, see.
Much love,
Angela

Sweet Valley vs. Olsen

2008-08-10T12:00:00.000-07:00

I picked up a Mervyn's Catalog the other day and was reminded of my childhood...I had wanted to be a child model so badly. I was like ten. My mom, not wanting to seem the stage mother, said she would support me in my endeavors, but only if I myself would follow through.
I never would.
One day she said she had even sent in my pictures, because I think I begged her to and and Mervyn's wanted me for an ad campaign but, she wanted me to the one to follow through...Its strange. Why did she expect so much from me at the time? Even now, at the age of 27, she offers to do my homework.
But maybe this was the moment, the moment she realized trying to make me self sufficient was useless. I love that moment. The moment of realization.
I've seen it on countless faces; friends, lovers, family members, customer service representitives....
I dont know. This may not have been the moment. But probably, cause I saw the look.
Anyways, I was supposed to call these model people.
I remember just staring at my mom, then going to my room, reading my Sweet Valley Twin Novelettes, and lulling myself to sleep with excessive youthful masturbation that really had nothing to do with sex because i didn't know what sex was at the time.
I just re-read this last sentance, and i guess it must be true: Nothing does ever change. Ever.

Craigslist Ad

2008-08-07T14:47:00.000-07:00

Hi! My name is Angela and I’m looking for a roommate in the Pismo/San Luis Obispo area. Males preferred. So we can do it. Not right away though, cause I’m not easy.

Please be neat, and I will do my part of the housework too. That is, before we do it. After that I’ll stop doing my part, cause I’ll fall into an apathetic and lazy state and also feel that you owe me on account of the doing it.

You can have a girlfriend, that’s fine. You’ll leave her for me cause I’ll be much cooler than her. At first. Then, I’ll be your girlfriend, and I’ll stop being cool. In fact, I’ll most likely be worse than your original girlfriend you had upon moving in, but by this point it will be too late because we’ll already be living together. You’ll grow to hate me and do a whole bunch of fucked up shit to make me break up with you, but I won’t, I’ll just complain about you to my friends, and probly your friends too. Then, I’ll sleep with some of your friends.

At this point we will probly both need to move out. You will try and kick me out, but I’ll make you feel guilty and so we will both end up having to find new places even though it would be much easier and more fair, really, if me and my fat ass left. I’m not so fat now, but by the time this happens I most definitely will be 10-15lbs heavier then when we met. This will somehow be your fault.

You will then be free to get back together with the girlfriend you left for me. Consequently, I will stalk you both on myspace, and if you both have a facebook, I will also stalk you on facebook. If you catch me doing this I’ll be like whatever I don’t care about you I’m not stalking you you’re the psycho, but in reality, I do care, I am stalking you, and I am actually the one who's insane.

If you are interested in this arrangement, give me a call, I’m looking to move in by the Fall 08 school year- you can reach me at my mom's house, where I live with her and her four cats. Thanks!!

Gchat - 3/24/2008

2008-08-05T10:00:00.000-07:00

8:25 AM Angela: i cant believe ive been gone for like 2 months

Steph: i know

Angela: have you seen becca

Steph: saw her two days ago

Angela: i had so much fun with her in paris

Steph: she said u guys had fun

i wish i could've been there

8:26 AM Angela: it was prolly the best part of my trip

she was the best host

Steph: host implies she has a penis

Angela: host

Steph: hehe

Beating a Dead Horse

2008-07-28T09:00:00.000-07:00

Dear Ex-boyfriend,

i rarely remember my dreams.
i had a dream last night that i bought this horse from this ghetto lady and her kids on the street, and it was the raddest horse and i took it home and put it in my back yard. then the next day you came over and i was so excited to show you my horse, and when we went out back it was dead, like horribly dead and rotting with its toungue sticking out and flies. You started to make fun of me for being so stupid as to buy a horse off some ghetto bitch, but then i started crying because i was really upset cause i totally loved that horse, so then you became all chivalrous and decided to go stand up to the ghetto people for me and yell at that bitch and her man for selling me a fucked up horse, but it was like 1pm and we couldn't find them, and you got all "well, i have shit to do at two, so i have to go soon" and then i thought you were kind of a dick again.

Love, Angela

My review of "Drunk Divorced and Covered in Cat Hair" by Laurie Perry aka 'Crazy Aunt Purl'

2008-07-27T07:51:00.000-07:00

Okay, this will sound mean cause I kind of enjoy this chicks blog (in the same sense that I kind of liked the Olsen twins big screen debut in "New York Minute", meaning I masturbate to it but would not publicly disclose to knowing all the words...verbatim.) But I was drunk and damn you Borders Reward Card I bought this book and let me tell you it was so gay I thought I was straight.
I mean, I am straight.
Moving on...so I just hate it when people talk about being "crazy" or "Out there" when they are very clearly not. I KNOW crazy. I know it intimately. It rents a timeshare in my vag and summers in my liver.
This dumb ho says some shit about her mom having a "sick sense of humor" because to entertain her little brother she cooked a hamburger into the shape of a hotdog and put it on a hotdog bun.
Hmmm.
This sounds neither sick, nor humorous. It sounds effing delicious.
You wanna know what a sick sense of humor is? When your dad dies when youre 15 and your mom makes up stories about him beating her when he was drunk to guilt you out of your alcohollism.
Now thats fucking HILARE.
So thats my book review...this book sucks so bad it makes "Juno" look like Noam Chomsky.
Actually, I take that back... there really isn't so much of a contrast between the Chomsker and Juno- I mean their breasts are pretty much the same size, and they both seem to care about stuff. Plus, with some nice calf implants, theyd actually both be on the top of my "need to fuck later this week" list, along with the guy down at the chevron and the other guy down at the chevron. So, yeah, disregard the last couple sentances.
The book still sucks though.

A recent epiphany

2008-07-25T10:00:00.000-07:00

I’ve decided that I don’t ever want to have an affair with a married man.

Its just so… 32 year old bank teller who lives in Monterey and drinks white wine and considers her coworkers her best friends.(side note: I am fully aware that in five years I will probly be this bank teller, if not because of karma from the previous statement, then simply through pure determination on my part).

I used to think of affairs as so defining. When I was younger, I was actually jealous of all the girls in my grade who were fucking teachers- what a great story for the grandkids, I would think. What an event, to have an affair with a teacher. Then, when I was older, it was the professors, what a thing that would be. All the cool girls did it. I was never that cool. I never cared about grades or even sex in general, much less my own grades or having sex myself. And then I felt shame. It was some sort of confusing status-quo that I think I made up in my own head, one that everyone else, none I knew, but all the others were living up to but I could never. I just thought that that was what edgy, self-defining girls did, and I so wanted to be that girl, with that story.

Not so much anymore.

In reality, I don’t think I want to watch some flabby bastard’s shadow pumping up and down through the tv-light of two and a half men reruns flickering against my wall, or against any wall for that matter.

After years of cheating, secrets, loveless sex coupled with rampant drug abuse, I’ve realized that these were all my equivalent of that lost story of an affair. And really, though I’m very good at embellishment and have made these stories quite worthy of being told at my friends parties to their refreshing chagrin, I’ve also realized that they are just as empty as I never thought was possible.

So, yeah. My dreams of fucking a married dude, a dude in power, or whateves, they’ve all but died- much in the same way as most of my dreams:

I realized they were fucking retarded.

My Review of "JUNO"

2008-07-24T22:58:00.000-07:00

This movie was gay.
Me and Juno, on first glance, have a lot in common. We both like unprotected sex with teenage boys, making married men leave their wives, being fat, and getting Jennifer Garner to rub our bellies.
This is where the similarities end. My final verdict:Thumbs down.
FYI: To be fair, every time i tried to watch the movie I kept getting up to check my wall street stocks on my blackberry, so I may have missed some important parts. Its hard to hear retarded Moldy Peaches songs through my bellows of "BUY BUY BUY!!! SELL SELL SELL!!!! oh wait...who is this?". I should know.
Welcome to my fast-paced livin-on the-edge world people- its a rough one, but someones got to do it.

Goodbye Yellow Brick Road

2008-07-23T10:50:00.000-07:00

The backs turned

For reasons both apparent and non-apparent

Whatever

They get easier to see

But they never get not hard

To look at the scruff of the neck

The sweater pulled over their fingers

You never prepare yourself

That, yeah, that’s the last time

But it always is

You know it later

And wish you’d said something

At least something different

But you didn’t

And by this time

Its been too much time

Too much time has passed

Also, if you try to go back

At this point you’ll look like more of an asshole

So you just have to accept you are an asshole

And hope you’re not too much of an asshole

When they remember you

If they remember you

Which they probably won’t.

Gchat - 5/19/2008

2008-07-21T09:00:00.000-07:00

11:25 AM Steph: i forgot to call u on ur bday, sorry

happy belated bday

old bag

Angela: today is my bday

Steph: oh shit

haha

Angela: dumm

Steph: i thought it passed

i am the dumbest

happy current bday!

Angela: toats

11:26 AM Steph: we're old

Angela: i cant wait to have my vag work done

i think i look young, then i look down

and im like dammit

Steph: hehe

11:27 AM Angela: i probly should be wearing pants anyways though

A Photo Montage of my life thus far (Minus shots from "The Hills", cause I couldnt find an angle of LCs face that did justice to the impact its had)

2008-07-20T08:48:00.000-07:00

Thursday Night Walk

2008-07-17T08:05:00.000-07:00

Vintage Poem: 2/19/2004

I was stumbling along the streets

I was passing by vagrants

But they didn't fuck with me

Like they sensed my sickness

I vomited along the bushes

that seperated the homes from

the highway

Leaving a half-digested,

over-caffinated trail behind me

I could barely see a few steps ahead

The black plants growing

against the black houses

Black American flags

against the black sky

The only light the moon

glistening across my insides,

strewn allover some good samaritan's

front lawn

It only cost me my soul (plus 39.95 a month)

2008-07-16T06:46:00.000-07:00

Things I'd rather be doing than be at the gym:

- Having sex with my best friend's boyfriend.
- Doing blow of my best friend's boyfriend's balls.
-Laying in bed chain smoking and eating the skin off honey-bbq flavor KFC boneless chicken wings and watching my Cher music videos.
- Doing the same thing except with ranch flavor and maybe Cher's Diane Sawyer interview from 1987.
- Repeat repeat but with original recipe and Cher's first appearance on David Letterman.
- Watching one of the cats pee on the floor and then pretending i don't see it so my mom can clean it up later.
- "Accidentally" downloading a virus on a coworkers laptop from watching porn and huffing all their computer duster then rearranging their cubicle and blaming the illegal immigrant janitor.
-Going to the mall.
-Going to the park.
-Going to the park next to the mall.
- Masturbating in the park next to the mall.
- Watching the tv-edited version of showgirls.
- Getting my tubes tied.
- Staring out the window while rocking back and forth.

But I'm at the gym.

Vintage Email 2/18/2004

2008-07-15T10:51:00.000-07:00

-----Original Message-----
From: Azakiye(at)yahoo(dot)com
Sent: Wednesday, February 18, 2004 8:28 AM
To: Multiple Recipients
Subject: [FWD: On The Beach Today -- February 17, 2004]

even the southbeach diet doesnt want me to eat- wtf?

Guilt

2008-07-13T10:40:00.000-07:00

I feel guilt all the fucking time. It is my one downfall and the one thing that is continuously fucking up relationships, and making me not want to ever have kids(besides for the whole getting fat/ ripped vagina/ being non-fuckable in general thing)…Like with him, he can always make me balk, always make me question myself, and even though HE knows for a fact that I did nothing wrong, I still believe a little bit that I did something wrong.

This, like everything else fucked up in my life(i.e. my olsen twins obsession, my oprah online journal, etc), dates back to my childhood. When I moved out at 18 my mom made me feel so horrible for " leaving her” I actually cried myself to sleep and not only because I was a sarah maclaclan listening, 6-times-a-day-masturbating virgin, but because I felt BAD, like my dad dying when I was 15 and leaving my mom to live out the rest of her years by herself was MY FUCKING fault. I knew it wasn’t, but somehow it unleashed a chain of me falling victim, especially in the hands of childish men, to feeling completely horrible and guilty to things I’m not responsible for, like the fact that they are shitty boyfriends or irresponsible or uncircumcised or whatever. I’m not that mad at others for this though, I can’t be- I let it happen, and its what I need to change. Especially not at my mom, I can't be mad at her- she's white and shes old, and those are two strikes against her and that must be hard enough.

Fill in the blank

2008-07-11T10:00:00.001-07:00

What can really be said for someone who sits on their ass watching reality tv, eating chocolate zucchini bread and salami all day after devouring over a gram of coke by themselves and listening to the entire clueless soundtrack 14 times the night before, leaves the house mostly just for minimum wage paying part-time work at a coffee shop, fucks an alcoholic ex who treats her like shit, is ungrateful toward her doting mother in a way that makes others uncomfortable and has potential to create awkward situations, lives with a gassy Harry Potter fanatic and three cats, in addition to holding on to her one and only lofty goal of going on extreme makeover, mostly for her beef curtains but could also do something about her fat ass, horrendous acne, fucked up teeth, broken nose, thin lips, small boobs and big ham arms? Did we mention this someone is 26?

I am a Beacon of Jetsetting Godess Light

2008-07-10T21:19:00.000-07:00

I've always felt like a big, throbbing open sore. Like my insides are on the outside. When I'm unhappy it's a palpable sickness. It shows in my whole body and it's sticky and glistening.
I've never felt this more so than when I was in Europe ... I went through what I could only describe as intense destructive and all encompassing culture shock.
I remember I was alone in an apartment that maybe I shouldn't have been staying at in Madrid. I had the keys but the owners didn't know it ... and I was terrified but couldn't leave the apartment (cause everyone was looking at me, see) but I did manage to go to the "mini mart" downstairs for long enough to pile a ton of what I think were the Spanish equivalent of twinkies onto the counter and me and the Spanish man behind the counter had a staring contest, and god I wished I could speak some fucking Spanish (IRONY) but I couldn't so I just pushed my last five euros towards him, and I guess it was enough but probably more than enough because he still said nothing but smiled a bit and I grabbed my armload of whatever the hell pastries they were and stalked back up to the apartment and ate one after the other until I think I had eaten at least four bags, and each bag contained at least 16 whatevers each, and I poured all of the unbeknownst hosts Tabasco Sauce all over them and then threw up until I passed out listening to an mp3 player filled with songs, pretty bad ones, from some dude back home. (I had pretended at the time they were good because we were fucking, but, really, that was also pretty bad.)
So when my friends ask me why I don't talk about my Eurotrip so much maybe its because I don't think they'd like what I had to say.

This is what happens when I keep a notebook on my nightstand.

2008-07-10T12:56:00.000-07:00

There are no known cures for Spanish. English is a treatment option, however those with severe Spanish, specifically those who reside within the state of California, seem especially resistant to treatment. So, until we find other viable solutions for this horrible disease, these people and everyone around them will have to deal with this affliction.

This is on my moms fridge.

2008-07-08T22:29:00.000-07:00

Obama

2008-07-07T12:34:00.000-07:00

----------------- Bulletin Message -----------------
From: Alicia
Date: Jul 1, 2008 1:28 PM

I received this in an email from Equality for All, an organization that is fighting hard to maintain that ALL people receive equal rights.
HERES THE COOL PART:
"In a letter read to a gathering of the Alice B. Toklas LGBT Democratic Club on Sunday, Democratic Presidential Candidate Barack Obama reaffirmed his opposition to ballot measures that propose to take away the freedom to marry for lesbian and gay couples, including California's Proposition 8.
This is a tremendous boost to our campaign.
We applaud Barack Obama for his consistent opposition to Proposition 8, the California initiative which would mandate that lesbian and gay couples be treated differently under the California Constitution. We agree with Senator Obama that all people should be treated equally under the law. Senator Obama and Gov. Arnold Schwarzenegger join millions of Californians who are speaking out against Proposition 8 and standing up in favor of protecting fundamental freedoms.
I know who has my vote!!!

----------------- Bulletin Response-----------------
This is actually untrue...I hate to tell you, but I just saw Obama EATING a gay person the other day...he hates them that much. I'm so sorry you had to find out this way.
Angela

An awkward pause

2008-07-03T10:00:00.000-07:00

“I’m sorry. Really…it's just...you know, this is my grandma's bed and all.”

I sighed and looked down, pushed him off me. “Yeah?”

I mean I get it. She was hardly cold in the ground. And yes, we were in her bed. But we had moved it to his apartment, his room. Its not like her orthopedic underwear were scattered beneath us as we fucked. But, apparently he still felt her presence or something. Or at least he was trying to convey this to me, as a weak excuse for limp-dick.

Look – I’m not a (excessively) mean girl. I have compassion for people and their dead grandmas. I mean, perhaps not empathy 'cause I don’t know how much I’d care if my own grandma died (she almost did, and I didn't really care, so I doubt that if she actually did much more caring could possibly emerge from my loin). I do realize, however, that sheltered white boys feel a little more toward their mother’s mothers.

I doubted this to be the case though. I didn’t think he was lying, per say, but his penis was only moderately functional at best before grandma died. It didn’t help, I’m sure, dead grandma (or D-GMa as I like to call her), but it was like blaming pot for the downfall of a crackhead.

Dead Grandma = pot. This thought made me giggle. And then I looked at him, grimly rubbing his face with his big stupid hands, and knew he probably thought that I was laughing at him, which I should have been but wasn’t.

“Look it's ok. Hey, let's dig up grandma and use her corpse as a bong!” Why I was externalizing my Grandma-pot thoughts: I think I thought I was maybe trying to be funny?
He didn’t think this was funny.

And then, I didn’t either, not really. I wished I hadn’t spoken. I love kicking a man when he’s down just as much as, if not more than the next guy, but this wasn’t the right time. Know your audience, my mom used to say. Stupid overprotective bitch. Anyway, she was right about that. And so I still don’t know why I said it. Maybe I was just saying it for shock value.

Unfortunately, as of late, me being a complete asshole is becoming less and less of a shock.

The Deconstruction of an Ode to my Slobbery

2008-07-01T11:00:00.000-07:00

You know, I am truly a mess. Mentally, physically, ethically – and yes, I am a total slob. Notorious, really. My friends all talk about it ad nauseum. It’s the stuff of folklore and legends.

And yes, it is really that bad.

I have managed – albeit through years of alienation, frustration, and verbal abuse (plus that one time I was excommunicated from the Catholic Church) – to wrangle my habits and barely scrape by on an almost functioning degree of cleanliness … but even then, only when someone is looking.

However, the more I think about it, the more I feel like this persecution stems from deeply rooted envy. We, as women, are supposed to be the homemakers, as in: Clean the damn house. Which I, being one of these supposed “women”, do not.

Don’t get me wrong – I doubt any of my girlfriends would want to wallow in the filth that I rather gaily and obliviously go about my day-to-day activities in. And, upon seeing my room I’m not sure any self-respecting dyke would touch me with a 10-ft pole – and that’s even after the labiaplasty. But, I do think they are jealous of the fact that I can be SO oblivious to the very things our feminine inertia drives us to obsess over.

And it’s not just the chicks. Guys love to call me out for my messiness. Even though, many of them are just as bad, or worse. However, ratio-wise, how I should be as a woman compared to how disgusting I actually am way outweighs their should be to actuality ratio by tenfold; and, because I am smarter and usually more physically attractive than the guys I date, they like to hold this against me because they themselves are insecure and covetous.

Like they think I care.

But, I suppose simply in writing this, I’ve just proven that I do.

Fuck.

Perfume

2008-06-30T10:00:00.000-07:00

I remember this one boy I dated was so cute and I liked his personality so much, but … I don’t know. It was his scent. He didn’t smell bad, quite the opposite. He actually smelled good, but he didn’t have that manly, pheromones thingy going on. ... He smelled frail, soft. Like dove soap and pencil shavings. I couldn’t do it. I actually stayed with a guy who treated me like shit for years, just because I couldn’t get enough of his smell. While he was sleeping I used to sit with my nose pressed against his face for hours at a time, inhaling deeply. Sometimes he’d wake up during this and lean over to kiss me, cause he thought that that was what I was trying to do, but I would pull away and shove his head back down and continue to sniff. In retrospect I think this might’ve made him uncomfortable, but hey, you have to do what you feel is right for you.

On Moving back home…

2008-06-28T18:20:00.000-07:00

It's hard not to feel like I'm in high school. I’m 27 and I'm living with my mom again. Except in high school I had a car and less acne.

But moving in with mom hardly seems like a choice at this point – it's something I’ve been hurtling toward head-on through the universe for quite some time.

Let's go back a year.

I was living with someone, and at least biweekly we would get into terrible drunken fights. These often consisted of me throwing his water bong at him, “Fuck you pothead!”, and him accusing me of sleeping with my teenage coworkers , “I'm gonna tell that guys parents you let him cum on your face!”. Then, like clockwork he’d kick me out circa 2 am and I'd stumble around capitol park chain-smoking Virginia Slims and staring at the lights of the government buildings through bleary eyes as I cried, never softly, wondering why I even bothered to live, while ignoring the fact that at least 3 or 4 homeless guys were coveting my Ugg boots (not the homeless women though – they found them tacky and told me this often). Then I’d get tired, and I’d have to go home.

I would go back, and he’d be asleep. I’d sleep on the couch.

When he’d wake up he had always forgotten the night before, and I’d threaten to leave and he’d beg me to stay. Then I’d think that must mean he loved me, so of course I didn’t leave, and then we’d do it and go for walks and I’d name our children and we’d have an almost identical fight several nights (sometimes hours) later. It made me mad at the time, when the neighbors would laugh, but in retrospect it is all quite amusing. That is, if amusing means pathetic and heart-wrenchingly devastating. (FYI: I’m pretty sure amusing DOES mean pathetic and heart-wrenchingly devastating).

All those times I think I had it in the back of my head that I would leave and come down here to, um, unravel at my mom's. I think this because, when I went to sign up for school here, all of my info was in the system, dated around May of last year, with my old address and everything. I must have filled it all out after one of those drunken fights and not remembered.

No, I didn’t come here right away. I tried to make it work with the ex, it didn’t, I tried to find myself by going to Europe, I didn’t , I tried to fuck and drink and snort all the pain away, which actually worked quite well, but then I’d wake up and I was fat and jaded and sick of it all. But still, I really didn’t want to move back home – I hated the thought.

And honestly, I’m not loving it. But, I think I’ve known this was coming for a long time – like a fugitive to a warrant, like a black person to when Obama loses – inevitability sucks, but the more you avoid it, the longer you have to wander around Capitol Park in your ‘getting lucky in Kentucky ’ baby-t in the wee hours of the morning, reeking of Carlo Rossi and desperately grasping at an existentialism that you realize only through hindsight may forever be elusive.

Or, maybe I just don’t like paying rent, okay?

Hot guy in hot yoga class

2008-06-28T18:19:00.001-07:00

Hot guy in hot yoga class

You are hot, and its not just the yoga

There are no hot guys is yoga in Sacramento

They were either Asian

Or fat

And usually, a combo of the two

You are neither

And that’s why

One day

We will hopefully both pretend

For your parent's sake

That I have an education

Love Angela

Birthdays

2008-06-28T18:18:00.002-07:00

I remember when I was dating this guy who was going through a terrible divorce. His wife had up and left him about six months before. On his birthday I gave him a homemade card with a cutout of the Olsen twins from US Weekly with a thought bubble drawn to the side saying “Your wife may have left you, but we never will! Love, Mary-Kate and the fat one”. That was a good day. For me, at least. Although now that I think about it I may have ditched him later that night to get date raped by a movie producer who lived in Pebble Beach. Also, I think I might have called him the next morning to pick me up from the movie producer’s house. I hope I’m mixing up that incident for the exact same incident but one on a different day, because that’s maybe not the best birthday present so much.

Hot yoga

2008-06-28T18:18:00.001-07:00

You can't go to hot yoga when you're fat + You can't be not fat if you're me = I can't go to hot yoga.

I, like most women, have gone a large percentage of my life trying to lose weight. I've tried everything – illegal drugs, self-induced vomiting, tapeworms, and I think I took a walk once – you know, I've done it all. I'm practically a certified nutritionist. And, technically all of this works, except i don't think that walk did shit. but when it's said and done, the one practice that makes me feel the best is bikram yoga. I feel refreshed, like the layer of toxins that I am completely ensconced in on a daily basis slowly melts away. I feel leaner and just good. And it gets me out of the house and is a fun time for all.

Happy Mother's Day

2008-06-28T18:17:00.000-07:00

Happy Mother's Day

Mom's aren’t gay

At least not in the modern terminology sense

But probably

Like in old times

When gay meant happy

But maybe not you

Cause, granted, you are MY mom,

But in the upcoming year

I will try not to be such

A disappointment

So then

You can be

Totally gay

Just like I always felt you were

Love Angela

On switching majors

2008-06-28T17:57:00.000-07:00

A month after he left, I realized I hadn't gotten my period. I thought that this sucked. not because of a perhaps potential child, 'cause that sucked in its own right in such a way that there was no possibility I'd have been prepared to wrap my head around it at the time, but because of the fact that I'd probably have to call him. No, I wouldn't have the kid most likely, but either way I'd need money. And he'd just think I wanted his attention, which I did, but I didn't want him to know it so blatantly. I didn't want him to know that, when I was begging him not to leave and go back to Venice Beach without me and crying and hadn't been to bed for 4 days, I didn't want him to know that, a month later, not much had changed – that indeed I still wanted him in addition to not having become a smart, sexy, successful business tycoon (like what Reese Witherspoon does in the movies when a guy breaks her heart) – at least not through something so obviously desperate and pedestrian as a pregnancy.

But there i was peeing on a stick into a toilet on top of my lunch i had just puked up. And there it was, telling me how fucked I was and also that ketchup looks pretty gnarly after being molested by one's stomach acids.

So anyhoo, I decided to save face. Lie low. I didn't have a job, not much else to do but maybe watch Adam Sandler DVDs and do meth ... and call my ex and tell him, "Oh, hey, I know you said you didn't want to see me ever again 'cause I was a methed-out whore or whatever, but you know your sperm? I think you forgot some in my ovum." Well, i did watch 50 First Dates, The Wedding Singer and Happy Gilmore. I went for walks, snorted lines, walked a little more. I didn't call him though. I couldn't. If I had to have his baby I would, as long as he didn't talk to his friends about how lame I was.

the following days became a blur, seeing that I had given up on food and sleep altogether. In retrospect I guess I was trying to kill little Oprah (yes, i had even named her at that point). And yes, little Oprah died. She died what I hope was quickly and what I know as being surrounded by sounds of Cher's greatest hits, a three-day Seinfeld marathon with her mother reciting scenes along with the cast, and also, of course, sobbing. A lot of curse-filled sobbing.

Then Oprah was whisked away, through the pipes of the Monterey County sewage system, away to what I hope was a better place.

An interesting side note: At the time, Monterey had just installed one of those new filtering plants like in Santa Monica, where it would turn all raw sewage directly back into drinking water. The drilling for such things destroyed all the beautiful beaches so it lead to much controversy, but was touted as being good for the environment nonetheless. It was then that I realized, seeing as i drank mostly tap water,i was probably consuming the same child i had recently expunged. It was also then that i realized i should switch my major to marketing, cause I came up with the slogan 'you can even drink your own miscarriage!'and i think that maybe would have helped to sell the idea of filtering plants to environmental zealots.

So, in the end, I suppose I learned there really is good to be had from any situation.